While Faelan waited in the shadow of the birch, he noticed a detail in the conversation he had overlooked.
"Did Sasha say the fixer who sent the information was called Sunshine?"
That nickname…
Sunshine.
Wasn't that the one Rebecca and Pilar's father used?
So he was still alive.
Well, he never knew how or when he died.
He only knew that before ending up in Maine's crew, the siblings had lost everything and were basically homeless, waiting to get some job from Wakako.
"At this point, Pilar probably still wants to be like her father, and Rebecca isn't the 'crazy gun gremlin' from Edgerunners. I think her dream was…"
To take care of and cuddle puppies?
Frankly, that more innocent version of Rebecca was more adorable to Faelan.
"The problem is, I remember her father wasn't exactly an honest or trustworthy man. Even among fixers, he leaned more toward the same 'type' as Faraday —the information I had on Sunshine wasn't much, I didn't even know his real name, but I didn't like that guy's personality— He considered Pilar weak for talking big and not acting with skills to match, while disapproving of young Rebecca's positive streak and wanting her to toughen up her character."
Ironically, that kind streak in Rebecca remained both in her younger and more hardened versions. Perhaps in a different form of kindness, but it was still there—anyone who's seen Edgerunners can tell.
It wasn't harsh love to help them survive in the city. Sunshine lived in almost hedonistic luxury and didn't pay much attention to the siblings, aside from giving them money and making sure they didn't embarrass him.
But even that vanished after his death, showing he hadn't prepared any backup plan for them, almost as if he expected to live to old age.
And that arrogance doesn't sit well in Night City; it particularly likes taking people like that down.
Rebecca and Pilar had no home, no property, no money in their names.
Even their father's car ended up stripped, used merely as a place to sleep, where any other homeless person could pee without concern.
"I won't deny I'd like to meet both of them."
Since David is now seven and Lucy is ten, Rebecca should be around twelve years old, while Pilar would be fourteen or fifteen.
"Wow, I just realized Pilar is almost our age!"
Pilar might have skill with hardware and mechanics, but when it came to personal hygiene, she wasn't exactly a role model.
With her style of dress and the poorly kept beard she grew, she really looked much older. Faelan (for some reason) had the impression that Pilar was more than ten years older than Rebecca.
In hindsight, that wasn't really the case.
Of course, Rebecca looking younger than she actually was didn't help the contrast…
"Even if I don't know when her father dies, it's not hard to calculate." —he glanced at the Arasaka transport getting closer, maybe he shouldn't have chosen such a steep plateau, they were taking forever to arrive— "Without more concrete details, and judging by how the siblings looked during their flashback to get Wakako's job, Sunshine will die between tomorrow and, at most, two years from now, being very generous. I'll ask Sasha and Kiwi to investigate a bit; it'll help narrow down the date…"
Actually, maybe I could assign the task to Misty?
Divination was already a strong talent for her; she could refine it while trying to figure out the man's death date. She only should—
"Better not." —he shook his head, dismissing the idea— "If Misty later meets the siblings and somehow the matter of how she tried to predict their father's death comes to light, it could create a huge misunderstanding."
If the netrunners were just looking for details about the fixer who sold them information to verify reliability and reputation, it would seem much more normal, even routine in a way…
A large projectile shot out of the Arasaka transport, straight at Faelan, just as he was about to use roots to block the wheels.
Then the projectile fired micro-missiles!
Faelan pressed his hand against the laurel tree's bark, and it coiled like a snake around him, blocking the attack just before impact.
Explosions sent splinters flying and destroyed the wood, raising smoke and dust.
The smell of gunpowder and chemical explosives mingled with the scent of burnt laurel leaves.
"Great way to say hello." —Faelan realized during the second attack that the Arasaka transport hadn't fired a projectile.
It had launched Adam Smasher himself!
Four red lights glowed in the smoke, which a gust of wind cleared to reveal, unnecessarily dramatically, the robot still adorned with pieces of human flesh.
Faelan frowned, feeling genuine disgust at what he was seeing.
He already knew Smasher was barely human by now, but how much of his original self remained?
Two or three percent?
The disgust wasn't just his opinion; he could feel everything related to SCP-166 in him rejecting what he saw.
Smasher turned his head like an owl, looking at the Arasaka transport behind him, the same one that had brought him directly to his target and was now being compressed by a sort of wooden "trap."
"Interesting." —he ignored the screams of the people inside the transport, he didn't need these "reinforcements" that had been added at the last minute— "You really have some novel tricks; that's real wood." —he confirmed with his sensors.
Yes, he wasn't going to let anyone take credit for this mission.
If this bastard had an implant doing this, he wanted one installed too!
"I'm surprised you actually dared to come to me." —admitted Faelan as he shook splintered pieces off his clothes— "You should've seen what I do to guys like you; all that chrome is counterproductive against me."
He didn't believe for a second that Smasher came looking for him without reading whatever info Arasaka had, yet here he was.
The guy was walking to his death with his head held high, huffing with pride, unafraid to step into the void.
"Heh, classic arrogance of youth." —Smasher let out a laugh that sounded like machine gun fire being chewed— "You've faced scavengers and gangs. Pure cannon fodder. You really think we're on the same level? I didn't think you were that naive."
He didn't know if Faelan had some kind of gas compound that oxidized chrome, caused electromagnetic wear, or whatever, but he had been through maintenance to counter everything.
"I don't consider myself naive."
"You say that, but here you are, waiting for your death in the shadow of a tree."
Faelan: …
No, no, you're the one who doesn't seem aware of the real situation!
"I know about you, I have no reason to worry." —he shrugged.
"Rumors aren't viable information, kid, not for guys at my level." —he flexed his chrome claws, supposedly fingers— "Ignorance isn't courage."
"Adam Smasher, born June 21, son of a Bronx-born American and a Russian mother. You grew up in New York and joined a gang in your neighborhood until the Collapse, when the U.S. Armed Forces wiped out the last of the gang you led." —Faelan began calmly— "After that, you enlisted in the Marines for six years, where you were eventually discharged for insubordination. You returned to your hometown as a mercenary, specializing in dirty, destructive jobs. In 2015, Arasaka's local branch hired you and other mercenaries to steal a technological prototype from a competitor. You were hit by two rocket-propelled grenades and were clinically dead for over eight minutes before, somehow, the doctors revived you. Your body was on the verge of collapse, so you had two options: unplug and give up, or undergo a full-body conversion in exchange for a fifteen-year contract with Arasaka."
Smasher dropped his arrogant attitude and stared at Faelan, as if seeing him for the first time.
"With your new body, you had a blast." —the sarcasm in his voice was palpable— "If I remember correctly, you once got shot point-blank in the chest by a 40mm grenade launcher, fell nine floors from a rooftop, and landed headfirst on a garbage truck. You immediately climbed back to the roof to rip the shooter's head off. Or what about that punk who bragged he could use a Malorian Arms 3516 to pierce your body? You laughed and showed him what a 'real weapon' was by pulling out a Magnum Opus Hellbringer and blowing his head off?"
"How the hell do you know that?" —Smasher couldn't help but ask, interrupting him.
The last part didn't surprise him too much; anyone who read Solo of Fortune 2 could know that.
But the garbage truck incident?
He had never told anyone that humiliating outcome!
He even erased the surveillance tapes—made sure there was no trace!
Faelan wasn't going to answer that; he didn't know if Smasher was streaming their encounter live.
"Then there's the matter with Morgan Blackhand—"
Smasher didn't seem interested in being just a listener; he drew the same Magnum Opus Hellbringer mentioned, a four-kilogram stainless steel revolver loaded with .666 Magnum cartridges with steel casings.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Smasher watched Faelan, who had a third of his body blown into the air, resembling a crescent moon.
"Good thing I didn't forget to take the pain potion!" —Faelan sighed in relief— "Otherwise, forget keeping me standing; I'd be rolling while spouting the curses I learned from Galina."
"What kind of life support do you have?!" —Smasher scanned him head to toe, but the result was always the same: entirely organic.
The most technological thing he had were those glasses!
Seeing the damage heal, including his clothes, left Smasher confused, but above all, extremely disgusted.
As a firm believer that abandoning flesh for metal was the way to go, what he was seeing mocked everything he had stood for since his "rebirth" in 2015.
He activated his Sandevistan and stopped less than half a meter from a very slow Faelan.
"Doesn't matter; if you're resilient, that's better for me. I just need to bring you in alive, the rest… is optional."
After all, it was part of his job conditions; collateral damage was always part of his work.
And how he loved that part!
"Should I just cut off your limbs? If the old man wants to talk to you, that should be enough, right?" —he considered as his optics were drawn to the horns— "Oh, this would look great in my studio!" —he murmured with a dark smile as he extended his hands and firmly grabbed Faelan's horns.
"Oh? Much firmer than they look…"
The screams will be delicious~
Just as he was about to cancel the Sandevistan and rip them off, he noticed Faelan's dark-lensed glasses reflecting his face.
"Ah, better do this properly." —he moved a hand to grab the glasses— "I want to see your face clearly the moment your brain registers the pain and shock, mixing your tears with the blood from your temple wounds!"
He carelessly threw the glasses and looked into the boy's eyes…
What he found face-to-face was Faelan's predatory smile, watching him with full attention, eyes glowing with their own light.
"I. See. You."
--------------------------------------------------
Don't miss the new Harry Potter fanfic on my Patreon: Two Mistakes of Fate
Synopsis:
I'm telling you, prophecies are overrated.
Fate is always flexible if you know where to bend it.
Fate makes mistakes, like everyone else.
And this time, the mistake resulted in two transmigrators ending up in a world of magic, as descendants of two wizarding families. Upon discovering each other's existence, and with their "golden fingers," they decide that canon can go to hell!
P.S. Includes a song in each language.